


Rebels and Visionaries

by lady_needless_litany



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Galen tries to be a good dad but is a mess, Lyra Erso Lives, M/M, Pre-Rogue One
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 07:38:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16677367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_needless_litany/pseuds/lady_needless_litany
Summary: Lyra is a rebel, through and through. Galen isn't, but when he's offered an opportunity to hit back at the Empire, he has to take it.





	Rebels and Visionaries

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Plaid_Slytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Plaid_Slytherin/gifts).



“I’m going!” Lyra yelled. Her eyes were teary, but she was resolute. “It’s the right thing to do! I thought that you, of all people, would have understood.”

“I-” Galen looked away, desperately trying to scramble his thoughts into something coherent. “I know why you want to go. But Saw’s operations take more innocent lives than Imperial ones! I won’t be part of that.”

“At least he’s doing something. He’s fighting for something. You’re too afraid of your own shadow to even try!”

Her words stung. They were cruel and exaggerated, but they were true.

“Fine,” he eventually said. “It’s your life. But I’m not allowing our child to be raised in a cult.”

Lyra looked at him, aghast. “Is that what you think this is? That I’ve been — what — indoctrinated?”

“Maybe.”

“I can’t believe you.” She shook her head. “And I’m not leaving Jyn.”

“Lyra, think about this,” he implored. “You’re an adult, your decisions are up to you. Jyn’s a child — she needs to know something other than war and death. If she gets near Saw, that’s all her life will be.”

“You make it sound as if I want to turn her into a soldier.”

“Don’t you?”

“Of course not!” Lyra’s voice echoed off the walls, painfully loud. “I’m her mother. I want her to be happy and free, and that can only happen if the Empire ends!”

“Don’t you see-”

Lyra cut him off. “When we left Coruscant, we left because we couldn’t bear the thought of a weapon like that in the hands of the Empire. This is no different. If we do nothing, we allow the Empire to grow, to get stronger.”

He looked her straight in the eye. “I know the suffering that the Empire causes. I’ve seen it, I’ve heard it, I’ve felt it. I’ve caused it. If Jyn grows up surrounded by all that, who knows what kind of person she’ll become? She might end up like Saw, not caring who dies as long as she can prove a point. Or maybe she’ll just break. Are you prepared to risk that?”

Lyra’s mouth moved, desperate to reply, but there was nothing to say.

“Fine. She stays with you. I can communicate via the Holonet.”

“No. That’s too dangerous," he said firmly. “If you are absolutely sure that the communication is secure. Only then.”

They both knew that would never happen.

“What are you going to tell her about me?”

“That you love her and that you went to fight the Empire for her,” he said truthfully. “That I don’t know where you are. And, when she’s older, I’ll help her find you if she wants to.”

She was struggling — his conditions were objectively reasonable, but Jyn was her daughter. It would be a heavy cost and she’d never know if it had been the right choice.

By that time, the venom had seeped out of her voice, replaced by pragmatism. “What if the Empire comes for you?”

“Why would they do that?” he said, softly tense.

“Krennic.”

He accepted the possibility with a nod. “I can’t say. Whatever’s best for Jyn.”

They dropped into silence. This conversation had been had before, in different guises and to varying depths. This time felt different. Definitive.

“Then I guess that’s the decision made,” Lyra said finally. “Give me a few days to sort things out, though.”

“Of course. And this doesn’t have to be final. If you change your mind… you can stay.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but the time for changing my mind is past. I’m going, as soon as I’m ready.”

 

* * *

 

The day of Lyra’s departure was cold and windy, but the sky was clear and blue. Mid-morning saw the three of them make their way to the flattest piece of land they could find — that was where Lyra had arranged to meet one of Saw’s compatriots.

Once they’d arrived, their wait was short; the transport was old and rickety, but it touched down without issue. The pilot was an unfamiliar woman with a rough, Outer Rim accent. A sense of déjà vu made Galen wonder if they’d met her before somewhere, but she made no indication that she recognised them.

“Lyra Erso?” the woman said. Lyra nodded. “Great. You’d better get onboard. It’s a long trip.”

Lyra nodded again and the woman headed back into the vessel, perhaps to give them privacy for their farewells.

“Listen to me,” Lyra whispered. It nearly broke Galen’s heart to see her crouched next to Jyn, backpack already slung over her shoulder. “I have to go away. I’m not sure how long.”

“Will you talk to me?”

“I — I don’t know, sweetheart. I’ll try, I promise.”

“Okay.”

Smiling sadly, Lyra ruffled Jyn’s hair. “Love you.”

Jyn surged forward, wrapping her arms around her mother. “Love you too,” she mumbled.

Lyra extricated herself, standing up and moving to stand face-to-face with Galen.

“I know we don’t see eye-to-eye on this,” she said honestly. “But I hope you can understand why I’m doing this. And that you know that I’m sorry.”

“I understand,” he said. “I’m sorry, too.”

Her response was genuine. “Thank you.”

She sighed and kissed his cheek. “I’m going to miss you. Take care of Jyn.”

“I will.”

Then she was gone, climbing into the transport. She paused, once, to look at them and wave; then she disappeared.

The transport lifted noisily, disturbing the air enough to set the clothes and hair billowing.

The pair of them stood still, watching it until it had disappeared from view. It was perhaps that anticlimax — the realisation that they could no longer see it — which was the worst. Saying goodbye had been painful, the days leading up to it agonising; now he felt the loss even more keenly. The loss of his wife, who he still loved, and who he may never see again.

As if sensing the hollow that had opened inside him, Jyn’s hand wrapped around her father’s. “Are you okay, Papa?”

Galen had to take a moment to stop himself tearing up; as it was, his throat was thick and a his breathes shuddered. “I’m fine,” he lied, planting a kiss on top of her head. Jyn’s eyes — so young, but so perceptive — seemed to see right through his pretense. 

She squeezed his hand harder. “It’ll be okay.”

_ Jyn,  _ he thought.  _ My stardust. Already so brave. Like your mother.  _

“I know,” Galen said, managing a weak smile. “I have you, after all.”

 

* * *

 

_ Beep. Beep _ .

Galen’s heart stopped.

_ Beep. Beep. _

He held still, eyes sliding shut, praying that it would stop.

_ Beep. Beep. _

He could ignore it no longer. He stood up from the table and crossed to the screen on the far side of the room. He already knew what it would tell him, but read it anyway, purely because he didn’t want it to be true.

_ PROXIMITY ALERT _ , it screamed in red letters,  _ IMPERIAL CODED VESSEL.  _ Followed by a number, a distance, that was steadily ticking down. Lah’mu was not a highly populated planet — Galen had no doubt that they were there for them.

Jyn emerged from her room, expression equal parts fear and confusion. “What’s that?”

He saw no point in lying. “It’s the Empire.”

Her voice didn’t tremble, like he might have expected, but it became high-pitched and taut. “The Empire?”

He turned to look at her properly. “Don’t worry, my darling,” he said, trying to reassure her. “I won’t let anything happen.”

“Will we have to leave?”

“Maybe. I’m not sure. But whatever happens, we’ll be fine.” He wished that he sounded more sure. “Now, go and get your things. The things that your mother always told you to have ready.”

Jyn nodded seriously and disappeared again.

Galen murmured a prayer to a deity he didn’t believe in, then stepped outside, into the long grass that blanketed the hilltop.

Immediately, he spotted the ship: uniquely shaped, gunmetal grey. A  _ Delta _ -class transport, optimised for stealth. It was painfully familiar, which was possibly the worst thing of all. It wasn’t carrying faceless Imperial soldiers; it belonged to Orson Krennic, meaning that this was personal.

He watched the shape grow larger and larger, his dread increasing with every passing moment. At some point, Jyn joined him. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, they watched together as the shuttle landed.

When the doors opened and expelled its contingent, he felt her press against him and wished that he could provide more comfort than fragile, empty words. As the figures — one clothed in white, the others in black armour that gave them the appearance of beetles — swept up the hill, he spared a thought for what would have happened if they’d gone with Lyra. For a split-second, he regretted his decision. But he consoled himself with the knowledge that he had done — and would always do — what he thought was best for Jyn. He didn’t know how that day would end. He couldn’t crush the glimmer of hope that suggested it may not be as bad as he feared.

The time for contemplation was over.

“Remember,” Galen whispered into her ear as the soldiers stopped in front of them. “I love you.”

She nodded. He was immeasurably proud of the way that she didn’t shake or avert her eyes from the troopers in front of them.  _ I wish I had your bravery, _ he thought.

“You’re a hard man to find, Galen,” the man clad in white — Orson Krennic — said. “But farming? Really? A man of your talents?”

“It’s a peaceful life,” he replied stonily. He was relieved that his voice remained steady.

“Lonely, I imagine.”

“Since Lyra died, yes.” He could feel Jyn’s confusion and hoped that she played along, hoped that her face didn’t give anything away. The statement was a dangerous gamble, but he felt compelled — it was the least he could do for her, wherever she was now.

“Oh,” Orson responded. To others, it may have sounded sincere, but Galen knew him and knew that it was anything but that. “My condolences.”

_ He doesn’t believe me _ .  _ But that doesn’t matter. Will he call my bluff or let me have this? That’s the question. _

“Search the house!” Orson ordered. 

All at once, Galen’s organs seemed to contract.  _ Calling my bluff, then. Or trying to. You won’t find anything in there. _

Four of the troopers complied, marching through the grass towards the house. Galen didn’t take his eyes off Orson. Unless the man had changed, he’d see that as a sign of weakness — something that Galen wasn’t willing to give him.

“What do you want?”

“The work has stalled. I need you to come back.”

“I won’t do it, Krennic.” 

“We were on the verge of greatness. We were this close to providing peace and security to the galaxy.”

“You’re confusing peace with terror.”

“Well, we have to start somewhere.”

“I won’t be much help anyway. My mind isn’t what it was.”

“Look, you can both come. It’s all arranged. It’ll be like old times,” Orson said. “Even if you won’t do it for yourself or for me, do it for your daughter. You can be together, even if we have to move during the project. She’ll get a first-class education, private tutors. Any career that she wants. And total security, because of your work.”

Mentally, Galen weighed up the options. Orson had always been persuasive, but even looking past that, his pitch was good. Jyn would be close to him.

In reality, he would be going whether he like it or not. He wasn’t Lyra, willing to lay down his life and others’ for the sake of a moment’s rebellion. Besides: it was easier to bring an empire down from within. If he refused, they’d just find someone else to do it. If he complied, he could do something. Even if he was ultimately powerless, he could slow the weapon’s development.  _ You see, Lyra, I’m not quite as cowardly as you feared. _

Slowly, he nodded. “If I must.”

“Good!” Orson clapped his hands together by way of celebration. “Then it’s settled. Do you need anything? No? Then we’ll leave at once.”

He turned sharply, gesturing at the troopers to do the same.

Galen guided Jyn forwards, towards the transport.

The troopers had already taken their places, forming an intimidating, uncommunicative line along one side of the space. They found a seat on a cold metal bench opposite, where Galen tucked her under his arm and whispered a reassurance. Orson strode out of cockpit a moment later, sitting at the end of the Erso’s bench.

Galen turned to him. “Where are we going?” he asked, trying to keep the worry out of his voice.

“Coruscant first. Then Malpaz or Eadu.”

“Eadu?” He couldn’t recall a planet or city with that name.

“We’ve set up a new facility there. It’s going to be the centre of our kybercrystal research, once it’s up and running.”

Galen didn’t reply to that. Instead, he forced himself to look at the troopers opposite him, to study their armour with a kind of careless curiosity. If he was back in the Imperial game, he needed to learn to look at them as if he had nothing to hide.

 

* * *

 

It was immediately clear that Orson didn’t trust him. He was civil, but that was as far as it went. The warmth of their friendship had evaporated. He wasn’t surprised — he’d betrayed him, more or less; he couldn’t deny that he was disappointed, though. He’d thought that maybe, since Orson had gone to the effort of tracking him down and personally retrieving him, he’d still liked Galen, still wanted his company. Galen still felt a flicker of hope — he believed that their relationship could be salvaged, with enough time and effort.

They were on Coruscant for less than a week, confined to a small set of rooms for the entirety of their stay. “Just a precaution,” Orson explained. “Nothing unusual.”

By the time Orson had them escorted back to the spaceport, Galen was physically relieved. They’d spoken only briefly since their reunion, nothing personal or sensitive. As the capital faded behind them, however, Orson visibly relaxed.

“Eadu’s fairly bleak,” he said, unprompted. “It rains almost non-stop. You’ll like the facilities, though.”

“Why did you pick Eadu?”

He scowled, good mood draining away. “I didn’t. Tarkin did. Bastard always manages to get involved. Said something about its remoteness aiding security.”

“Oh.”

Orson settled into a grumpy, stewing silence that Galen had no desire to interrupt. He gathered Jyn against him and the pair of them fell into a fitful sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

Their first morning on Eadu dawned bright and early. A stormtrooper escorted him down the corridors of the station, but before they’d even reached the labs, he was accosted by a man in the uniform of a scientist.

The man introduced himself with a firm handshake. “I’m Exeden Madine. Seconded from Imperial Prime University.”

_ Interesting. _ They were really pulling out all the stops for this project. “Oh? What’s your area?”

“Broadly? Mathematics. But I’ve a background in physics, too,” he supplied. “That’s not what I’m here to talk about, though. I was told that you have a daughter?”

“That’s right,” he replied, guarded at first.

“I’ve been asked to tutor her.”

“Ah, I see. That would be excellent, as long as it doesn’t interfere with your other work.”

“It wouldn’t. My duties are relatively flexible and aren’t as arduous as most people’s. And we’ve an old tutor droid to assist.”

“In that case, yes. Send me your schedule — we can find a time that works for you and her.”

“Good,” he said, nodding. He dropped his voice slightly. “I’ll just be happy to teach again.”

Galen smiled. “Well, she’ll be quite different to your usual students. She’s only nine.”

“I consider it a test of my professional ability,” Exeden rejoined. “But, honestly, I look forward to it.”

His meeting with Exeden marked the beginning of their reassimilation into Imperial service. He met his team, many of whom were old acquaintances, and caught up on everything he missed. He woke early, in accordance with the station’s assigned shifts, worked long hours, spending the evenings with Jyn. Orson appeared periodically to ensure that he was complying.

Galen was given an office adjacent to the labs; it was modest, but functional. A sharp knock interrupted him one morning, less than a month of his arrival, in the midst of him reviewing a report submitted by a subordinate.

He raised his voice to reach whoever was on the other side of the door. “Come in.”

“Good morning,” Orson said as he entered.

As soon as he realised the identity of his visitor, Galen shot to his feet. “Good morning. Can I help you?”

“No, not really.” The man deposited himself on the edge of his desk, facing away from him. It forced Galen to step out from behind his desk and into the centre of the room, as if he’d walked in to Orson’s office, not vice versa. He stood ramrod straight, quite a contrast to the other man’s relaxed perch.

From a pocket, Orson produced a portable tablet, and spent a stilted thirty seconds pulling up a sheet of numbers. He examined the figures — staff motivation, hours worked, general productivity — on the screen.

“I’m glad you decided to rejoin us,” he started. “Your presence has been clearly beneficial.”

Galen acknowledged his statement with a hint of pride.

He put his tablet down. “Are you happy here, Galen?”

Galen was caught off-guard. “I - I suppose I’m not unhappy.”

“Really.” Orson didn’t sound convinced. “Despite leaving us to farm on a backwater planet.”

“That was another time. Things were different.”

“Mm.” A frown, of thought, rather than dissatisfaction. “And Jyn?”

“It must feel natural to her, in a way. The Empire, stormtroopers, the orderliness: until Lah’mu, that was all she’d ever known.” Galen wished it were not true, but it was; Jyn had taken to life on Eadu like a duck to water. “She enjoys her studies as well, I think. Dr. Madine is a good tutor.”

“I thought he would.”

Galen had to suppress a knowing shake of his head. He should have known that it was too easy to be a coincidence and that Orson had been involved.

“Still,” Orson said, tilting his head to one side. “I expected more resistance.”

“What can I say? This work has been my life for years.” That was true, but it wasn’t enough — it wouldn’t satisfy the other man. In the end, what surprised him most was how easily the lie came. “Besides, I’m not a political man, Krennic.”

“No,” Orson admitted. “You never have been.”

A silence.

“Now, I’m traveling to Coruscant tomorrow. I have to travel regularly, and now that you’re settled and this place is ticking along, I’m off again,” Orson said. “Make sure to keep up the good work while I’m gone.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll need daily updates. I’ll send you the exact details later.” His gaze softened a little. “Don’t worry — this project has so much potential and these statistics show that you’re the best man to lead it.”

Galen simply nodded.

 

* * *

 

With Orson’s approval, Galen allowed himself to relax infinitesimally.

It wasn’t difficult: he’d always loved his work, its potential uses aside, and being surrounded by the some of the brightest minds in the galaxy was exhilarating. There was a sense of comfort, too. The uniform, the titles, the buildings themselves. It was all so familiar. Lyra’s absence was tangible, but the rest of it fitted like a glove in a way that it never had done previously. Perhaps it was his newfound purpose.

He didn’t even have to cope with being constantly surrounded by stormtroopers, as he’d feared, because the scientist’s working spaces and accomodation was stacked into the same building and they rarely had to venture beyond its confines. As befitting his status as the head of the research team, they’d been given a whole apartment in the top floor, complete with a private staircase so they could come and go without everyone knowing about it. Galen was painfully aware that it wasn’t good for a child — or an adult, even — to be cooped up in a single building, but it was safe and devoid of ’troopers, so Jyn could wander around more-or-less as she pleased.

She’d proven popular with his colleagues, too. Initially, he’d been worried that they’d resent the fact that he had his daughter close when their families were far away, but they’d been nothing other than warm and welcoming. Perhaps they simply enjoyed the distraction, or maybe it was her innocence that was refreshing. Either way, Jyn had quickly learnt that they were almost all wrapped around her little finger. She could often be found listening to one of them enthusing about their latest work or fiddling with a gadget that someone had built her.

Initially, he had worried that Orson didn’t like Jyn; perhaps she reminded him too much of her mother, with whom he had never seen eye-to-eye. Eventually, he worked out that it was something much less significant than that — Orson just didn’t know how to handle a child.

Despite his frequent travels, Orson himself had quickly reintegrated into Galen’s life — whether purposefully or not, he couldn’t be sure. As he’d warned him, Orson expected daily updates via hologram, but those conversations quickly evolved from formal reports to informative chats. Eventually, Galen was relaying as much office gossip as actual progress and Orson spent most of his time ranting about some official or another.

It wasn’t until one specific conversation, however, that ended with ‘this is classified, don’t forget’, that Galen realised how much they’d come to trust each other again. It was muscle memory; it was difficult to erase years of friendship.

There was something else, too, that was rekindling inside Galen. Somehow, he’d forgotten the infatuation he’d had with Orson when they’d first met — Galen had been bowled over by the power of the man’s conviction and had become immediately obsessed. He’d never acted on it, although he’d come close to it, even though there had been times whens he was almost sure that Orson reciprocated. But Orson had never shown anything concrete, so Galen had eventually dismissed it as a childish crush.

Of course, when he’d idly daydreamed, years ago, of falling for Orson Krennic, he certainly hadn’t envisioned this: both servants of an oppressive regime, trapped in a base that was almost completely insular. But the feelings were all too familiar. His heart fluttered in a way that it hadn’t for years — since his courtship with Lyra. It even sounded ridiculous to his ears — the heart of a man his age shouldn’t be  _ fluttering. _

He scolded himself on all fronts: he had more important things to think about, he didn’t have the time, Jyn might not like it — not to mention the guilt. The guilt was nearly unassailable. Except:  _ maybe Lyra would have wanted this _ . Galen wasn’t naïve enough to believe that Lyra would ever condone having feelings for an Imperial, but she would approve of the next thought in his head. Which was, simply, that if  _ he _ felt that way about Orson… maybe  _ Orson _ felt that way about  _ him _ . And if he did… well, that opened lots of doors, gave risen to hundreds of opportunities. Opportunities to do the task he’d sworn to complete: to delay the construction of the Death Star and give the Rebellion a fighting chance.

So, he gave in to it.

His first move, as one might call it, was a simple invitation to lunch. In a way, it was somewhat pointless — they both ate in the staff canteen anyway — but it was the gesture that counted. Especially as most of Orson’s lunches were solitary, while Galen ate with his colleagues.

Being older, wiser, less reckless, the pace at which their relationship progress was more comparable to a gestation than a thrilling romance. It was almost six months before their first kiss, another two before they spent a night together, another one still before Orson more-or-less moved in. 

It was so glacial that no one else had worked it out until they began to live together and Jyn had properly taken to Orson. Eventually, though, they put two and two together.

“So,” said one of Galen’s colleagues, sidling up to him one day. “You and Krennic, huh?”

Galen braced himself — he wouldn’t blame the others for being uncomfortable and disdainful of their relationship, though he vowed to be resolute. He already felt like he’d betrayed one partner; he wouldn’t to the same to another. “Yes.”

To his surprise, she just nodded. “Fair. Don’t see it myself, but each to their own. Just don’t piss him off, yeah? For all our sakes.”

“I’ll try my best.”

 

* * *

 

Despite his excuses to himself, Galen had yet to do anything. He hadn’t stolen information or manipulated Orson or done anything that might actually help the Rebellion. Yet he was still living a lie, and he felt it in a every second that they were together.

It was easier when Orson was away, because lying was always easier when there were light years between you, but he couldn’t deny his affection. His youthful infatuation, temporarily revived in Galen’s first months on Eadu, had been softened and replaced by a more mature tenderness. Their relationship wasn’t hugely passionate, nor were either of them vocal in their emotions, but they were indispensable to one another.

He felt as if he understood Orson in a way he’d never understood anyone else. And he’d come to realise how alone the man was — shunned by other officers, pushed down by his superiors, too proud to mingle with the lower ranks. That isolation, coupled with endless frustration, might be enough to turn Orson against the Empire.

Sometimes, when Orson let his guard down, his despisal of Tarkin and Vidian and their sycophantic bureaucrats and even the Emperor himself shone through. Only in the privacy of Galen’s apartment, of course, and never in front of Jyn.

He licked his lips. They were dry and cracked, the skin breaking where his teeth had worried them. “Orson.”

He looked up. “Yes?”

“I-”

The words were stuck on his tongue. He could so clearly envision what they would be, how quick and concise. He could even hear them, hear his own voice forming them. But they would not leave his mouth, no matter how hard he tried.

_ I can’t do this. _

He looked into Orson’s eyes. They were no longer closed off, as they had been when they’d first met and when their lives had come together for a second time, but nor could he reliably read them.

He’d been quiet for too long. Orson leant forward, a look of genuine concern on his face. “Galen?”

“I-” Galen forced a smile, as if he’d simply lost his train of thought. “How long until you’re next in Coruscant?”

“Two or three weeks. I have to be on Eriadu next week, though.”

“Why?”

He scowled. “Stars knows. Some celebration. Tarkin’s staff sent the invitation last night.”

“Oh. I was hoping you’d get some peace for a while.” Galen meant it, sincerely - Orson looked tense and drawn.

“No rest for the wicked, I’m afraid.”

 

* * *

 

It was after Eriadu, even after the next trip to Coruscant, until Galen had gathered enough courage to even think about talking to Orson.

He tried to strategise, to plan, to calculate. But no matter how he sliced it and diced it, there was no simple way to go about it. In fact, it wasn’t until they were sharing a quiet evening in Galen’s apartment and it simply became unbearable that he finally blurted it out.

“Lyra isn't dead.”

It was as blunt as that. Orson looked up from his tablet, blinking. His answer was calm, but came as a shock nonetheless. “I know.”

“What?”

“I believed you at first, but I worked it out along the way.”

“How?”

“Firstly, there was no grave marker.”

“What if we'd cremated her? Scattered her ashes?”

“That's what I assumed at the time. It only raised questions when I looked back on it,” he added. “When I realised that you’ve never talked about her.”

“How does that-”

“When someone that you love dies, you remember them,” he said, “I’ve never heard you say her name since then. Not once.”

“And that was enough?”

“It was enough to make me look for a death certificate. Even a backwater like Lah’mu requires you to register births and deaths as soon as the event happens. Obviously, there was no trace of one for Lyra.”

“You’ve never mentioned it.”

“It’s not an easy conversation to start,” Orson said in a forced attempt at humour. “Besides, it would have meant that you were a traitor to the Empire. That was a can of worms I wasn’t prepared to open.”

The response caused two things to happen simultaneously. His heart plummeted, filling his intestines with ice, because even the phrase ‘traitor to the Empire’ was a terrifying thought — especially when it was true. At the same time, it became instantly clear that Orson had no intention of hauling him off to prison or publically labelling him a threat; it was a weight off his shoulders, leaving him feeling lighter than he had in years.

His reply was short and level, failing to encapsulate the dichotomy. “I see.”

“But you — you’ve also never mentioned it.”

“I couldn’t afford to.”

“And here I was, thinking you trusted me.” Orson smiled bitterly.

Galen leant forward. “I do. That’s why we’re having this conversation.”

Orson didn’t reply. “Are you angry?” Galen asked tentatively. “I suppose you have every right to be.”

“I’m not angry. I’m not even upset, because I knew that you were lying and I would have done the same in your position.” He took a deep breath. “But it seems different, now that it’s out in the open. I feel — well, I’m not even sure. It’s just that if you’ve lied about that, what else isn’t true?”

“I’ve tried to be as honest as I could,” Galen said softly. “As much as I could, without endangering myself or Jyn. Or Lyra.”

“Lyra. So you’ve kept in contact.”

“Not as such. It’s...complicated. I don’t know where she is.”

“‘Complicated’ is about right. You know, this—” he gestured to the two of them. “This is adultery. You’re a married man. Our relationship — if you can call it that — is based on a lie.”

The words stung. Galen dropped his head into his hands, hiding his face.

“Orson,” Galen started, attempting to speak through his hands to the floor. When he found that it was to easier, he looked up again, eyes pleading. “I never, ever meant for this to happen-”

Orson snapped. “But it did!” he roared, brandishing an accusatory finger. “It happened, and now we’re in this mess!”

For a split-second, Galen saw the man he’d come to love replaced by the man that had once terrified him. Orson must have caught the flash of terror in his eyes, because he suddenly deflated, collapsing back onto the sofa.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice hoarse.

“It’s fine, I understand.”

“It’s not an excuse, though.” Orson exhaled. “We can’t have this discussion right now.  _ I  _ can’t have this discussion right now. I need… time.”

Galen nodded. “Jyn and I can find somewhere else to stay tonight.” He couldn’t think of anywhere, but he’d be damned if he couldn’t find a way to make this work. He had to.

“No, no.” Orson dismissed his suggestion with a wave of his hand. “No need for that. I’ll take one of the spare rooms in the barracks. There’s work that I need to do anyway.”

It was a weak, flimsy cover, but they both pretended otherwise. Orson got to his feet and left the room, without pause or hesitation.

The door slid shut behind him with a sense of finality. Galen sagged, spirit knocked out of him. With the scrap of energy that remained, he formed a wordless prayer, not sure of where he was sending it.

 

* * *

 

Unsurprisingly, Galen spent the rest of the evening unable to think of anything else. When Jyn returned, bubbling with stories of her studies, it took all his energy to focus on her words. He guessed that she’d worked out that something was wrong, because she voluntarily went to bed at the allotted time — usually, Galen had to order or wheedle for her to get there at all. He sent himself to bed a few hours later, but spent the better part of the night awake.

It seemed that a primal fear had eviscerated his love for Orson — it was still there, but it felt flimsy when held up against the possibilities. A relentless chain of thoughts circled in his brain:

_ He might report this. _

_ If he does, they might torture me. Kill me. _

_ Or Jyn. _

_ He will. He’s killed before. Ordered the deaths of many others. It wouldn’t be hard for him. _

_ But he hates that part of himself, I know he does. He’s told me before. _

_ But that doesn’t change the facts of the case. He’s an Imperial. _

_ No, he’s not. Not at heart. That’s why Tarkin and the others treat him like druk. _

_ And he loves me. _

_ Or he did. _

And so it continued: looping, circling, repeating.

His body was as restless as his mind, turning over and over. His sheets were stifling, and ended up in a crumpled heap on the floor. Shortly afterwards, his pillow followed.

About an hour and a half before his alarm went off, he slipped into a fitful sleep.

When he awoke, he was unimaginably exhausted. Still, his thoughts would not grant him a reprieve. He inhaled a cup of caf as Jyn ate her breakfast. She was ten now, almost ten and a half, with the perception of a much older soul.

“Are you okay, papa?” she asked carefully.

Galen forced a smile. “What makes you think I’m not okay?”

“You look tired.”

He didn’t want to lie to her, didn’t believe that was a healthy foundation for their relationship. At the same time, she was a child and deserved to stay that way for a little while longer. “I didn’t sleep very well.”

Not sensing anything suspicious in his answer, she scraped her chair back and grabbed her tablet. “I need to go, Papa. X3 said that I’m learning about the Clone Wars today.”

X3 was her tutor droid, which covered history, language, and the like — anything Exeden wasn’t entirely proficient in. “Of course, stardust. Have a good day.”

 

* * *

 

Galen couldn’t focus. He practically barricaded himself in his office, spending the majority of the morning staring blankly at the screen on his desk.

The hours were agonising. Eventually, though, the door opened.

When it did, Galen could barely bring himself to look up. He knew who it was — not only was Orson the only one able to enter without his authorisation, he also recognised the footsteps, the quiet swoosh of his cape.

“We have a lot to discuss,” Orson stated, forcing him to look up.

“Yes, we do. Would you sit?” He indicated the chair opposite him, which had been installed solely for Orson’s visits.

Orson sat. “I’m not about to report you, but I want to know everything.” For a heartbeat, two, they maintained perfect eye contact. “Everything.”

In amongst the crippling waves of relief, Galen supposed that was a fair request. So he explained, starting with his doubts and their flight to Lah’mu, Lyra’s choosing to join the Rebellion, and Galen’s decision to make his own stand. He even detailed the way that he’d simply wanted them to rekindle their friendship, only to realise that he’d fallen in love.

When he finished, Orson had only one question. “Why did you never tell me?”

“There was no way of knowing what you would do. I couldn’t risk it. Not with Jyn.”

“I’m not heartless, Galen.”

“I know. But the Empire is relentless and ruthless, and you have no reason to resist that.”

“Of course I do. When I was younger, the Empire seemed like such an opportunity, but now… it’s no better than the old Republic.”

“Surely — surely you have some allegiance to it?”

“Yes, a little, more for nostalgia’s sake that anything real,” he answered. “I always saw the pair of us as visionaries, not rebels — but if that’s the path you’ve chosen, then I will as well.”

“You want to join the Rebellion?” Galen asked in disbelief. His numb fear was beginning to dissipate, allowing his hope and his love to emerge once more.

“Not as such. I-” Orson broke off and looked away frustratedly. “Maybe it’s destiny, Galen, or fate. I’ve always believed that we have a roles in engineering the galaxy’s future; maybe that future is with the Rebellion, not the Empire.

Galen absorbed his statement slowly, nodding faintly. It took several seconds for him to form a response. “I don’t think I’ve ever said this to you, even though I’ve known for a while: I love you, Orson.”

“No, we’ve never said that,” Orson replied, unspeakably touched. Knowing something like that was one thing — hearing it said out loud was another. “But it’s true.”

“Yes, it is.” Galen began to smile, but Orson’s face remained serious. There was one more thing that he needed to say.

“Never lie to me again. About anything. Understand?”

Galen stretched his arms across the tabletop, palms upwards. “Orson, I’ve had enough lies for a lifetime.”

Orson placed his hands on Galen’s, squeezing them with surprising strength. “Good.”

“So… what happens now?”

“We can’t afford to be rash,” Orson replied, practical as ever.

“I know.”

“Look, this has been a revelation. So let’s not do anything now, let’s wait until we’ve gotten our heads around this.”

“Alright.” Galen tightened his grip, as if holding on for dear life. “As long as we’re do this together.”


End file.
